


I Don't Know About You

by brionypoisoned



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Humor, Multi, One Shot, Pretending not to like each other, Sharing a Bed, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brionypoisoned/pseuds/brionypoisoned
Summary: Juno and Peter find themselves quarantined together in the Carte Blanche. That's it, thats the fic.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 14
Kudos: 201





	I Don't Know About You

Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev sprinted through pitch darkness, wrapped in heavy coats. The air on Neptune’s moons was bitter cold, which called for some layers, and helpfully their coats were good for hiding the dozens of small packages they had just stolen from Orinoco Co.’s storage facility. 

Orinoco Co., the largest shipping conglomerate in the solar system, purchased one of Neptune’s moons to dedicate entirely to storage a few hundred years back. Massive gray delivery ships perpetually loaded and unloaded packages, attempting to keep up with the delivery needs of multiple planet systems. An enormous number of delivery workers died on the job, mostly from overwork and the moon’s unhealthy and frigid atmosphere, but Orinoco got away with it by paying them slightly more than a living wage. Compared to Hyperion city, making enough money to get by for the 5 to 7 years before your workplace-caused death was… well, competitive. 

“Hey, uh Ransom?” Juno whispered, as the two men ducked behind a grim concrete pillar, near to where Buddy said she would meet them with the Carte Blanche.

“Yes, Juno?” Peter’s heart ached whenever Juno Steel called him by his false name, but he did his best to hide it. He lived for the quiet, private moments when Juno was able to cautiously whisper, "Nureyev." Not that he was going to act on any of these irrational feelings, however. As Peter constantly reminded himself, this was still the man who had left him cold with no goodbye and no apologies. He had determined to treat Juno as a friend and colleague, that was all.

“Notice anything weird?” Juno asked, glancing around the facility. 

“The fact that, despite this being the most heavily used shipping facility in the cosmos, we have yet to see a single worker or manager or security guard? I have noticed that, Juno, yes.” 

“I mean, after Rita disabled that one loading bot, I haven’t seen anything even MOVE. That’s weird right? Isn’t that weird?” 

“Once again, Juno, I find myself not wishing to throw away good fortune until it proves itself to be something different.” 

“Good Fortune? Never met her.” Juno grumbled. 

Before Peter could sigh at Juno’s pessimism, a roaring engine noise from above signaled the arrival of Buddy Aurinko’s ship. 

“Ah! Good. Our escape vehicle has arrived. You still have that Ruby 7 engine piece? Juno?” Peter asked, for the fifth time.

“Oh no!” Juno’s face fell as he patted his pockets. “I must’ve dropped it!”

“ARE YOU KID-“ 

“Yes I am kidding you, it’s right here, I’m not a baby I can hold on to one little engine piece for 10 minutes…”

A piercing alarm noise rang out and cut off Juno before Peter could snap at him or he could finish his joke. 

“INTRUDERS! INTRUDERS! ALERT! INTRUDERS HAVE ENTERED CONTAMINATED SPACE! ALERT!”

“Damn!” Juno muttered.

“Contaminated…?” Peter asked, but with the noise and the hubbub he still managed to spy the light of Buddy’s transmission beam. “Over there! The ship!” 

“On it!” Juno yelled, and the two men ran away from the flashing lights of the rapidly approaching security bots and towards their escape. Bright red and yellow laser blasts from the bots zipped past their heads as Juno and Peter both leaped, simultaneously, into Buddy’s waiting tractor beam. They both shot upwards at top speed, ascending towards the ship. Peter knew how to hold himself to avoid spinning out of control in a tractor beam, and he stared at Juno in pity as the former detective flipped and spun around wildly during the process. It took a little getting used to, interplanetary travel.

They finally sprang into the ship, Nureyev stepping carefully inside, Juno landing with a loud thunk/crunch combination. A few stray lasers shot through alongside them, scorching some interior metal.

Juno lay on the floor, groaning. Peter knelt beside him.

“Are you all right? Are you hit?”

“No just… dizzy…”

“Oh.” Peter stood up quickly. Juno looked a touch too nauseous just then to be allowed anywhere near his extremely expensive embroidered suit jacket, even if Peter had lifted it from a space department store. 

“Peter. Juno. Good to have you back.” Buddy’s pleasant, raspy voice played out over the intercom at an uncomfortably high volume. 

“Good to be back!” Peter said, voice as cheerful as if they hadn’t just narrowly evaded death and capture. “And we have the part for you!” 

“Unfortunately I have some bad news. Rita was able to look into the records for the quadrant of the warehouse we just pulled you out of, and she found out that…”

“The whole place is infected, boss.” Rita’s voice cut in over the intercom, drowning out Buddy’s dulcet tones. “They had to quarantine about 300 workers yesterday, they cleared the whole area out so no more folks get sick.” 

“In-infected?” Juno asked.

“Rita, how…? How did you cut in over this intercom, I have the microphone in my hand…?” Buddy asked.

“Never mind that, uh, other boss. Mom boss. Anyway, BOSS, the whole warehouse you were just in was full of the blight, sir.”

“The… blight?” Peter asked, he looked at Juno, not understanding.

“Oh crap.” Juno sighed and rubbed his face, still lying on the ground. “What a pain in the neck.” 

“Excuse me, what blight?” Peter asked again, with a hint more urgency.

“It’s an airborne virus. Nothing deadly, Ransom, if you’ve been inoculated you won’t even suffer any symptoms.” Buddy announced. 

“Of course we’ve been inoculated.” Juno grumbled, “I got that shot when I was like 2 years old, you don’t live past 10 in Hyperion city without getting a shot for the blight…” He slowly turned to look at Nureyev, whose eyes were growing wider with each word. “Uh… right? Ransom?” 

“For the, I believe, third time, WHAT IS THE BLIGHT!?” Peter nearly shouted.

“Oh Mr. Ransom, it’s not too bad, I got it when I was 7,” Rita cooed over the intercom. “You just get real feverish and bright red for about a week and then you get sweaty with bad nightmares and then the last week you’re so sick you can’t move and you throw up every 10 minutes, but after that you’re right as rain!”

“Orinoco lost 6 billion credits in profits from workplace sickness last week, so they evacuated and closed down the entire warehouse quadrant. They’re trying to keep the outbreak in check.” Buddy said. “And, as much as I hate to do it, I’m going to have to do the same. You both are under quarantine, I’m afraid.”

“But… Juno’s been inoculated!” Peter protested, not sure if the sick feeling rising in his gut was from the blight or just the suggestion. 

“Even without symptoms I can still carry it. For three weeks.” Juno said. “It’s one of the funny things about the blight. You’ve really never been inoculated for it?” 

“Alas, no.” Peter admitted.

“It really is a shame.” Buddy said. “This is going to put our plans quite a bit behind schedule.”

“Ah yes, _that’s_ the shame.” Peter muttered. Juno, who had recovered enough from his dizziness to raise himself up to his elbows, smiled at that.

“We’ve prepared a sick room for you. We don’t have much space on the ship so you’re just going to have to do your best with what we have.” 

A door opened with a WHOOSH behind them, leading to a small hallway which had been sealed off at the end. There were two doors. Peter prayed that it was two separate living spaces.

“There is one bedroom and one bathroom. I will drop off food for you at regular intervals in the compartment in the middle of the hall. At the end of the quarantine you can return to the rest of the living.”

“Oh no…” Juno muttered.

“Again, I’m sorry. Call us with the intercom anytime you need help.” Buddy said.

“I can play you some streaming soap operas over the comms if you want, boss!” Rita shouted.

“That’s great, Rita!” Juno said. “It’s kind of tough if I can’t see it, though!”

“It’s not like you really watch ‘em anyway.” Rita said. 

“That’s fair.” Juno shrugged.

Peter, much to his own horror, felt a cough coming on.

~*~

“Well it was really good of ol’ Buddy to give us such a big bed, I guess.” Juno said, standing in the doorway of his and Nureyev’s living space for the next 21 days. The room was slightly larger than his office back on Mars, with a large bed in the middle and a small desk wedged against the walls on the far side. The other doorway across the hall led to a bathroom so small that Peter couldn’t extend his arms all the way out in it. 

“That’s the most optimistic thing I believe I’ve ever heard you say, Juno.” Peter said, grimly. “And I’m afraid I can’t match it.” 

“Hey, I’ll sleep in the loading room, if you want.” Juno suggested, looking like he would pack up a bedroll and go that second if Peter asked.

“The empty metal room filled with spare gears and hinges? Don’t be ridiculous.” Peter began to cough, an urge which was coming on more and more frequently. He was also feeling quite warm, which could either be the impending fever or the prospect of once again sharing a bed with Juno Steel. “We can… we can make this work.” 

“You, uh, you feeling ok?” Juno asked, gently.

Peter Nureyev, who usually stood with exquisite confidence and elegance, was beginning to sway somewhat. A sheen of sweat was forming over his forehead, and his ears were starting to look dry and red. 

“A master thief cannot afford to be sick, Juno.” Peter answered, stifling down another insistent cough. “This is extremely inconvenient.” 

“Right, well.” Juno sighed. “You kinda ARE sick though? and I think right now it might be best if you lie down.” Juno said, in his soft, kind, way.

Peter was going to protest but his head was so groggy and his face just so intolerably hot that that he found himself leaning into Steel for support, letting the smaller man steer him into bed and begin to remove his expensive, stolen jacket. The last time Juno Steel had removed his jacket he’d done it much less gently, Peter remembered, with a little delirious smile.

“What’s so funny?” Juno asked, unbuttoning a few of the buttons at the top of Nureyev’s shirt with shaking fingers.

“Just… nothing.” Lying down felt so good, Peter honestly couldn’t imagine standing up again even in a distant future. He coughed a bit and stared at Juno, who was trying to figure out how to unbutton Nureyev’s extremely complicated and fashionable boots. 

“I can’t believe you wore these on a straight-up hit and run robbery.” Juno muttered.

“The… the third rule of thieving… Juno… Is… never let anyone tell you what shoes you should wear.” Nureyev muttered, giving in to feverish delirium. 

Juno smiled teasingly. 

“Really? Shoes are ranked THIRD in the rules of thieving? That seems a little high to me.” 

“Well, that’s where they’re at in MY rules of thieving anyway. And my rules are pretty good. I’m very good… at stealing.” 

As Juno attempted to undo a leather strap on the shoes a small but lethally sharp knife fell out of a secret compartment in the heel and clattered to the floor.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Juno muttered, craning his neck to try to spot where it landed.

“Sorry.” Peter muttered.

“Shh shh it’s not your fault.” Juno comforted him. 

In a few more minutes Juno finally cracked the case of Peter Nureyev’s boots. Peter didn’t stay awake to see it, snoring away in a somewhat ungentlemanly but, to Juno, endearing fashion.

~*~

Feverish Peter Nureyev, as it turns out, is a talkative Peter Nureyev. 

“My head feels like it weighs 6,000 pounds.” He muttered, shirtless, sweating, lying in bed propped up by pillows. Juno lay next to him, fully clothed, above the covers, trying to watch one of Rita’s streams. Rita, to both of their dismay, kept recommending the two of them watch heavily sexual and romantic shows. Finally a panicked Juno INSISTED that they really only felt like watching crime dramas so now they were stuck watching their sixth action packed hovercar chase in a row. Both of them were dying of boredom.

“You and I both know that your head is perfectly sized.” Juno said, hoping Peter was too feverish to remember having ever said that. 

“That’s nice to say.” Peter mumbled, and Juno grinned at his own private joke. Peter turned back to the stream, as a heavily muscled policeman character ruthlessly and with expensive gore effects beheaded a nameless terrorist splinter cell member. He made a face. “I can’t believe you used to be a cop.” He muttered.

Juno laughed.

“Really? People keep telling me my moralistic vibe is pretty obvious.” 

“Cops don’t have morals.” Peter said. “Cops are thugs for the state.” 

“That’s…” Juno was going to protest and then he remembered all the shit he saw go down in the HCPD. “I mean you aren’t WRONG, but…” He thought really hard about anything he had done that made him proud when he was a cop. “One time I helped a drunk girl find her apartment when she was too blacked out drunk to speak. That was nice.”

“Mm. Did any of your colleagues possibly attempt to chat her up? Follow her up to her apartment? Perhaps?”

“I…” Juno paused, remembering. He could still see the sneering look on their faces. “Yeah. Like three guys. I stopped them though.” 

Peter shrugged in a sort of lazy “I told you so,” fashion.

Despite having a pretty fair understanding of Nureyev’s youth thanks to a psychic Martian eyeball tumor, Juno realized that he hadn’t really seen many of the grittier aspects of Brahma street life. He’d encountered a memory of Peter Nureyev from when he’d ascended to New Kinshasa, not before. It was easy to forget that the effortlessly classy smoothtalker had at one point walked the line between freedom fighter and terrorist. But the thought of the Guardian Angel System, which could, and did, rain down death from above at the slighest misbehavior, gave Juno chills. At least in Old Town he and his friends were allowed to commit their crimes and terrorize one another in peace.

Peter smiled to himself.

“You know, Juno, before I first met you, I thought I had you all figured out.”

“Oh really?” Juno eyed Nureyev cautiously, not sure if this was going to be a dazed, feverish rambling, or perhaps something he shoudn’t know.

“Of course! I thought you were going to be some belligerent ex-cop who quit the force because ‘the law’ wouldn’t let you rough up as many teenagers as you would’ve liked. I was going to butter you up by complimenting your scruffy ruggedness before robbing you blind.” 

Juno laughed out loud.

“It’s true!” Nureyev went on, laughing as well. “And then of course I walk in to your office and find you half out the window like a 16-year-old breaking curfew.”

“I’m not a lady that enjoys meeting new people.” Juno admitted. “And definitely not new people from Dark Matters.” 

“So I gathered. I had to change tactics completely, it was a nightmare. You were a dream, of course.” 

Juno smiled as Peter allowed himself to settle back in bed. With a quiet, unintentional tenderness, Juno laid his hand on Nureyev’s forehead to check his temperature. Nureyev’s skin was damp and worrisomely hot. “You need more fluids.” He said. “What do you like? Nutrient SportsAde? That was what Ben would always get me when I was sick.” 

“Nutrient… what in the world is that?” 

“I… I mean blue is the best flavor obviously, aside from that I don’t know what to tell you.” 

“Um… tea? Perhaps?”

“Oh yeah!” Juno regularly forgot about the existence of tea. “I’ll get Jet right on that. He makes a mean cup of tea, that guy. It’ll knock you right out.” 

“Jet’s… made you… tea? Before?” Peter asked, as Juno stood up and put his shoes on. It was a new look for Nureyev, slightly jealous, sicker than a dog, completely makeup free and looking like a hot… hot hot mess. 

“Oh yeah, it was our first date.” Juno joked, without thinking. “I mean, second, but it was our first chance to really talk.” He turned around to see Peter’s expression a second before, even in his feverish state, Peter managed to change it back to cool nonchalance. Even then though, his forehead had a bit of a twitch. 

“Jet… Sikuliaq.” Peter muttered. “I guess you have a type.” 

“Wait, what?” Juno asked.

“Nothing, it’s none of my business.” Peter attempted to look refined and above it all, but his hair was sticking to the sweat on his forehead and he still looked like a red, sick, sweaty mess.

“Hold up, me and JET!?” Juno let out a short cackle. “First of all, I could never.” 

“What?”

“He is WAY too good looking for me.”

“WHAT!?”

“I mean, similarly to how, you, when you aren’t like, at death’s door, are also way too good looking for me.”

“Juno, are you trying to make me feel better? Because this is an odd way to go about it.”

“Secondly Jet and I are DEFINITELY not there yet. I think I just sort of found his name out on accident because he and Rita like each other so much.” 

“Oh… oh so you…” Peter’s expression fell to one of self realization and horror. “You were making a joke. A joke about dating.”

“Yes! And, by the way… It’s none of your business.”

“I SAID IT WAS NONE OF MY BUSINESS!”

“CLEARLY YOU FIND IT INTERESTING, THOUGH!” Juno yelled, and it was difficult to tell from his voice whether he was angry or thrilled. 

Peter, despite feeling monstrously hot, pulled a sheet over his head. Through the covers he asked, in a muffled voice, “Please just bring me some tea.” 

“Of course.” Juno said. “I am gonna have Jet make it though, for your own good.”

Peter did not respond with words, only an irritated groan. Juno couldn’t help but give a little shit-eating grin about it.

~*~

After the fever came the nightmares. Peter Nureyev, a man on the run for 90% of his life, rarely slept for long enough at a time to attain the level of sleep necessary for a true nightmare. He had heard people talk about the usual ones. Finding a new room in your house, all of your teeth falling out, being naked in public, and so on. He’d never had a house and had no reservations about public nudity, so the only one which sounded frightening to him was the teeth one. Even so, he’d never actually had the nightmare.

But these fever dreams were something else entirely.

Every time he closed his eyes, a parade of the people he had killed in the course of his life flashed before his unconscious mind. The moment when their eyes would grow dull, the moment of transformation from a person to a mass of carbon, would replay over and over. He’d have just long enough to feel that sick feeling in his gut and then the next victim would appear. He could see every one of their faces with perfect clarity, feel the knife in his hands, the hot blood trickling down his wrists, cooling as it went.

When that dream passed, he’d move on to the next.

He was in a fast moving spaceship, hiding from something, someone, the details would change too quickly for Peter to really understand what was going on. It would be some forgettable mark from 10 years ago, or Buddy, or Mag, or some faceless entity. In any case, whoever it was was furious with him, and he had to hide and escape. But where he was usually so good at disappearing, for some reason in this dream it would always be impossible. Something would go wrong, he couldn’t move quickly enough, or he would get side tracked, and all the while his pursuer would get closer, and closer, and more and more furious with him for his floundering. 

Or.

He’d be in the room they were locked in on Mars again, only this time the heiroglyphs on the wall were real, living martians. The heiroglyph he’d seen of asexual reproduction would take place, in front of him, a fleshy green mass of… something, would undulate and split apart into two, identical martians, who would immedately begin to tear themselves apart over and over again into smaller pieces. All the while at odd intervals he would feel a jolt of scarring heat, a flash of bright white and pain from the electric shocks Miasma put him through when Juno got a question wrong. Were the martians all Miasma? He couldn’t tell. When the wet chunks of alien flesh hit the floor, had they been Miasma the whole time? And Juno was there, always there, with red-purple blood spilling out of his eyes and his nose and his mouth like he was trying to hold it in but there was just too much. And there was nothing Peter could do to stop it, to help him, nothing…

“NUREYEV.” Peter awoke mid whimper, realizing that he must have been making small frightened noises in his sleep. Juno was behind him, shaking him by the shoulder, prodding him awake. “Nureyev it’s not real, it’s just a dream.” Juno whispered, voice trembling.

“Juno, oh… Juno.” Peter couldn’t help but pull the man sharing his bed closer to him. Somehow feeling him there relieved the shuddering horror which still filled every nerve of his body. He grabbed Juno’s hand and clutched it to his chest. Awake, his very real physical misery all came flooding back. He still couldn’t really breathe, his sinuses were killing him and his head pounded. He’d never been so sick in his life, he was covered in sweat and yet Juno remained next to him, holding him tightly. 

“You’re ok Nureyev, you’re going to be all right. You’re here Nureyev, you’re with me.” Juno muttered in a comforting monotone.

“Will you stay?” Peter asked, half-asleep, in a more vulnerable voice than Juno had ever heard. It cut him to the bone, that voice.

“Of course, Nureyev.” Juno whispered, kissing the back of Nureyev’s head, sweat soaked as it was, tenderly. He clutched Nureyev as tightly into him as he could, wishing he could do something to speed up this horrible sickness, but the best he could do was be there at his side for him.

~*~

The final stage of the illness, the throwing-up stage, needs no further explanation from me. Let it simply be said that it was gross, Nureyev hated every second of it, and Juno was a real champ throughout the whole thing. (Again. It was very gross.)

~*~

Rita stood outside the airlock doors waiting for Mr. Steel and Mr. Ransom to emerge, with two little handmade cards that said “Glad you got well!” And an impossible number of brightly colored balloons which, if she released them, would probably get sucked into the ship’s engine or something and kill them all.

Jet joined her. “I ran some tests on the saliva sample given by both Peter and Juno, and it is clear that neither of them are contagious.” He said.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m here, Jet.” Rita sort of gestured at the cards in her hand. Jet nodded approvingly. “Where’s Ma?” She asked. “I mean, Buddy and Vespa?” 

“Vespa has chosen to remain in our room.” Buddy answered, joining the gathering crowd in the corridor and carrying the comms mic in a bored way. “She said she doesn’t want them to get big heads. I told her it was far too late for either of them to avoid getting big heads, and she told me in that case she didn’t care enough to come.” Buddy smiled, clearly amused and delighted by everything Vespa said.

Buddy pressed the comms button. 

“Juno? Peter? Are you ready?” 

“We’ve been standing here for 45 minutes, are you kidding!?” Juno whined.

“We are very much ready, Ms. Aurinko!” Peter answered, more politely. His voice was a bit raspy still, but there was a hint of its usual depth and cockiness. 

“OH WILL YOU JUST OPEN THE FRIGGIN’ DOOR ALREADY!!” Rita screeched, making both Jet and Buddy jump.

Buddy complied with Rita’s request, and Juno and Peter stepped, blinking, out of their sick room. 

“MR. STEEL!” Rita ran forward and glomped on to Juno with the strength and ferocity of a Koala. He didn’t fall over, but he did have to stumble back a few steps.

“I… It’s good to see you too, Rita.” Juno muttered, fondly.

“Which of the streams was your favorite?” She asked.

“Death Hiker 17” Both Juno and Peter responded at the same time. “Easy.” 

“OOOHHH THAT ONE’S SO GOOOOD!” Rita squealed.

“I am pleased to see that you have recovered your health, Ransom.” Jet said, shaking Peter’s hand. Peter nodded and tried to avoid eye contact with Juno, who could not hide his wicked grin at the exchange.

“Well, mostly, it’ll take a few weeks for these bags under my eyes to go away, I’m afraid.” Peter said, trying to stay cool.

“Bags under your eyes? Darling, count your blessings. You’re a picture.” Buddy said, casually shaking her stunning hair out of her face.

“Yeah, I don’t even HAVE an eye.” Juno said. Everyone ignored him.

“I feel compelled to apologize.” Jet continued. “It was for my sake that the two of you had to remain in quarantine. I had never been exposed to the blight, and thus was at risk of getting sick.” 

Juno almost gasped. Peter twitched.

“So… Juno and I were just shut away together for three weeks, for your sake? And your sake… alone?” Peter said, slowly and deliberately. 

“Why didn’t you just let me out and put those two in together?” Juno asked. “Then we’d all be immune!”

“That seems like an unnecessary amount of human suffering, Juno. Even for you.” Buddy pointed out. “Anyway, I got Jet inoculated two weeks ago, he’s good now.” 

“But…” Juno protested.

“It takes two weeks to take effect.” Peter said. “It’s fine. You know what? Everything’s fine.” Peter patted Jet’s shoulder and gave the taller man one of his most pointed smiles, the kind of smile which made Juno blush just to look at. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go take a nap in my room.” He, with only a slight wobble, waltzed away from the chatting group. 

Fifteen minutes later, a soft rapping knock came at Peter’s door.

“You, uh, you wouldn’t want any company in there, would you?” Juno muttered from outside, in a slightly embarrassed tone.

The door slid open with a flourish, and Peter stood leaning in the frame with an expression of triumph.

“Detective, I thought you would never ask.” He said, and pulled Juno in by the front of his shirt.

~end~


End file.
